“But she’s a songster, Hager! An’ I hears she’s sho one smart chile, besides. They say she’s up with them white folks when it comes to books. An’ de high school where she’s goin’ ain’t easy.... All ma young ones quit ’fore they got through with it—wouldn’t go—ruther have a good time runnin’ to Kansas City an’ galavantin’ round.”

“De Lawd knows it’s a hard job, keepin’ colored chillens in school, Sister Whiteside, a mighty hard job. De niggers don’t help ’em, an’ de white folks don’t care if they stay or not. An’ when they gets along sixteen an’ seventeen, they wants this, an’ they wants that, an’ t’other—an’ when you ain’t got it to give to ’em, they quits school an’ goes to work.... Harriett say she ain’t goin’ back next fall. I feels right hurt over it, but she ’clares she ain’t goin’ back to school. Says there ain’t no use in learnin’ books fo’ nothin’ but to work in white folks’ kitchens when she’s graduated.”

“Do she, Hager? I’s sho sorry! I’s gwine to talk to that gal. Get Reverend Berry to talk to her, too.... You’s struggled to bring up yo’ chillens, an’ all we Christians in de church ought to help you! I gwine see Reverend Berry, see can’t he ’suade her to stay in school.” The old woman reached for the onions. “But you ain’t never raised no boys, though, has you, Hager?”

“No, I ain’t. My two boy-chillens both died ’fore they was ten. Just these three girls—Tempy, an’ Annjee, an’ Harriett—that’s all I got. An’ this here grandchile, Sandy.... Take yo’ hands off that meat, sir! You had ’nough!”

“Lawd, you’s been lucky! I done raised seven grandchillen ’sides eight o’ ma own. An’ they don’t thank me. No, sir! Go off and kick up they heels an’ git married an’ don’t thank me a bit! Don’t even write, some of ’em. . . . Waitin’ fo’ me to die, I reckon, so’s they can squabble over de little house I owns an’ ma garden.” The old visitor pushed back her chair. “Huh! Yo’ dinner was sho good! . . . Waitin’ fo’ me to die.”

“Unhuh! . . . That’s de way with ’em, Sister Whiteside. Chillens don’t care—but I reckon we old ones can’t kick much. They’s got to get off fo’ themselves. It’s natural, that’s what ’tis. Now, my Tempy, she’s married and doin’ well. Got a fine house, an’ her husband’s a mail-clerk in de civil service makin’ good money. They don’t ’sociate no mo’ with none but de high-toned colored folks, like Dr. Mitchell, an’ Mis’ Ada Walls, an’ Madam C. Frances Smith. Course Tempy don’t come to see me much ’cause I still earns ma livin’ with ma arms in de tub. But Annjee run in their house out o’ the storm last night an’ she say Tempy’s just bought a new pianer, an’ de house looks fine.... I’s glad fo’ de chile.”

“Sho, sho you is, Sister Williams, you’s a good mother an’ I knows you’s glad. But I hears from Reverend Berry that Tempy’s done withdrawed from our church an’ joined de Episcopals!”